


When the Pale Moon is Rising

by sqiuds_02



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The Witcher (TV)
Genre: BAMF Stiles, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Derek has a kid, Druid Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Protective Derek, Scott is a Good Friend, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Witcher Derek, she is my oc and i love her so i can do what i want., yes its confusing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:46:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22250527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sqiuds_02/pseuds/sqiuds_02
Summary: Stiles whole life has been micromanaged with the hope of him becoming a powerful mage one day, no asking if that’s even what he wanted.So when he almost died in the arms of a handsome witcher, and given the opportunity to travel with him and the mans daughter, you best believe he is going take that opportunity
Relationships: Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Chris Argent/Kate Argent, Derek Hale & Original Female Character(s), Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Kate Argent/Derek Hale
Comments: 9
Kudos: 50





	1. Stiles - The Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!!  
> This is my first fic ever so please be nice.  
> I have watched The Witcher series on Netflix and I am IN LOVE.  
> I have only watched the show, I haven't played the game or read the books so there might be huge canon errors, please be nice.  
> This is un-betaed btw so all mistakes are mine  
> Tumblr- emissory-24  
> Please annoy me thank you.

Why Stiles had to make the journey to Cintra is beyond him. It was the middle of winter and boy did he feel it. Stiles pulls the filthy ripped cloak closer to him, trying desperately to keep warm in the frigid woods. 

“Fuck” The word escaped his mouth as he tried to warm his hands with his breath. He was not dressed for this weather. It’s not like he knew he was gonna be in who-knows-where in the middle of the wood, in the dead of winter 

\-----

“ What are we even looking for here?” Scott was getting antsy from sitting in the stuffy charge doe so long and stiles couldn't blame him. They have been traveling for three days in this stuffy carriage. Scott kept shift as though he had ants in his pants. Deaton,  
“My prince please be patient” Deaton didn't even look up from his book, his stoic expression affected by Scotts squirming. “If I am not mistaken you asked to come on this journey,” he spoke evenly as he turned the page. 

Stiles can feel his stomach turning a little as Scott kept talking. He was complaining about Cintra and its politics. His father’s eyes meet his and raised his eyebrows. Noah had hated the idea of this trip since the beginning but stiles couldn’t go back now he had things to do...things he couldn’t remember. He remembered them stoping, the screaming, the sorcerer on the hill watching them. He remembered running. Pain. Shoving Deaton into his portal and then making his own as a distraction. More pain. But everything was fading like it is hidden happening a day before… or maybe three, stiles could remember any more. 

Stiles snapped out of his memories, feeling the tears chill his cheeks. He was so so cold...He was going to freeze to death out here. “No, you can’t think that way. Father said when you give up in the cold, you die where you sit.” He had to keep going. He had too. His kingdom was depending on him, his people, his family. 

He had to keep moving. 

Just as he tried to will his body to stand, to keep moving, although his whole body was stiff and cold. Just as he stood, he heard the noise of an approaching horse. Stiles suddenly stood to attention as he heard the horse grew closer and closer. He tried to move his aching limbs as quick as possible, sliding behind a tree away from the small clearing. He pressed his back against a large pine. Not wanting to be found on the ground he turned and began to, as best he could, wiggling himself up and onto the first thick branch. 

His whole body had become so cold and stiff, his mind so clouded the woods had been reluctant to listen. Being in the middle of winter did not help matters as most plants were dead or hibernating. He begged it to surround him and hide him. The needles and branches moved with a small gust, to shroud him. It took more effort than usual. 

For the first time in days, he felt safe, pressed up against the tree as tight as he could be with nature wrapping around him like a blanket, blending his body into its mighty trunk. He thanked the mother as he parted the needles just to see where the horse and its rider had ended up. 

Where he had just been a couple of moments before now had a large chestnut horse upturning the dead leaves and the frost trying to find some edible grass. A smaller person was looking through its saddlebag. There was also a large man leaned over the remnants of a fire pit that he hadn’t noticed before, in his state. He was overturning stones and shoveling out the reminted of snow. Then he stood and turned to the smaller figure, his hood falling as he turned. 

Witcher. 

His hair was at white as the cloud-filled sky above him. And even at a length away stiles could see the pink tinge of a scar coming from his collar. The man then muttered a couple of words to his companion. His voice was quiet but deep, vibrating through the air. His words too quiet for Stiles to hear. 

The smaller companion then turned and shoved a bedroll into his arms with a giggle, that filled the clearing and bounced off the trees. The girl was young and her voice was bright in contrast to the gloom and steel of her partner. She smiled at the bigger man before a cold gust of wind blew through the clearing whipping up the snow and dead leaves around. The girl’s face scrunched while the man seemed unaffected and turned to look behind him. The horse whined loudly. The girl dropped the bedroll onto the ground and tried to calm the spooked creatures muttering gentle words and gentle touches along its neck. 

The trees like the small witcher, stiles felt their whispers under his hands. They called her “half breed” which stiles thought was a little rude. 

Her white hair was long he missed but it was braided. Kept away from her face for the journey. She had strong shoulders and a silver sword was strapped to her back, but she looked too young to share the witcher’s bed and there were two bed-rolls anyway. Stiles was enamored by this girl, and all his thoughts seemed nonsensical and seemed to blend. 

He wondered if she was warm, down there in the remainder of the sun. He felt the cold bleeding into his bones now. The tree was trying its best to care for him but he felt himself succumbing to the cold and fatigue. He leaned back finally breaking eye contact with the girl and turned his aching neck slightly in a feeble attempt at comfort and saw the witcher staring at him. He was looking right through the pine needles surrounding him.

The witcher had the bluest eyes he had ever seen in all his days. They seemed to glow in their resting place in the man’s face. His eyebrows were very serious as he started daggered into stiles little roost. 

If he wasn’t so cold he would have felt a chill up his spine. Stiles was so numb he just stared at the brute’s face. He had a scar on his right eyebrow that sliced it in half. But that’s all the details Stiles could get. The world had started to fade to black at the edges  
He placed a hand where the branch he was sitting met the trunk. He was going to die. He knew it. 

“I am going to be killed by this witcher, Mother. Forgive me. I have failed to do as you wished for me. Forgive me. Please. I am going to die alone…. Fitting punishment…” His face somehow began to get even more blurred. 

He was so weak. He all of his weight was against the tree. Limp and powerless. He couldn’t even attempt to right himself as he began to fall.

He felt the touch of the trunk leave his skin and he felt the air move around him. The world was blurring. Stiles waited for the ground to hit him and for his world to go black. But instead, he felt the warmth firmness of arms as everything started to blur into darkness stiles look up at the bluest most beautiful eyes in all of his life. Mother gave him something pretty to look at, at least.  
As the world around him grew darker and darker and the snow began to fade into nothing stiles let out a huff of breath into the air  
“...all...alone. ”  
Then the world went black.


	2. Derek- Snowing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there!  
> Three things  
> 1\. Y’all are so nice thanks for reading and commenting!!  
> 2\. thank you guys for filling me in on canon things! i am changing the plot so i won’t be crazy inaccurate but it can’t be helped sometimes. that being said when i said “daughter” i ment someone derek saw as his kids not necessarily his biological child.  
> 3\. the title is from “the last unicorn” (mainly the nsp version) 
> 
> Enjoy!!

Derek hated towns like Myhill. It was such a hassle to get all the way into it, tired, cold and wet, and be denied by the fucking innkeeper. In the life they lived, a good night's sleep was a rarity, if ever. Didn’t mean Derek didn’t want a shitty cot for a night.  
Derek was tired and dirty  
Vigile was tired and dirty.  
Even Rat looked tired. Derek turned to look at his daughter who was focusing on the road ahead. Her first solo mission was in a fortnight.  
He was proud of how far the girl had come. When they had met in the forest that day, she was a toddler, fascinated by the fact that there was someone who looked like her. Now she was a strong young woman who could defend herself and was smarter than he ever hoped to be. As they walked they arrived at a clearing with the remnants of a camp. Two logs were arranged around a decrepit looking fire pit. Vig began to lead Rat into the clearing.  
“What are you doing?” he gruffly asked. He didn’t really care. They had nowhere to be.  
Vigil tied Rat to the tree and tilted her right hood up, examining it.  
She wasn’t listing then.  
He turned from her and walked towards the fire pit. He examined the pit turning around a couple of cold its ashy stones. As he looked around the camp, red caught his eye. There was a large bloodstain on the right log. It looked caked and dry but its irony-fear scent still filled his nostrils. There must have been hunter here recently… or an injured person. He hoped that if there was someone here, the poor soul found help or peace.  
“Her gait was off and something is in her hoof” Virgil voiced echoed in the clearing, bouncing off the trees surrounding them. “So this looks like a good spot to set up camp.” 

As she spoke, a gust of wind blew through the hollow, carrying snow with it and tugging Derek's hood down. Rat whinnied and fussed. Derek stood and began to walk over to the rest of the small party, Vigil shoved a bedroll into his hand as she kept talking but Derek was listening. He had heard the excited flutter of a heartbeat and rushed breath. Derek turned, scanning the wood. Winter had cleared much of the plant life, giving clear sight all around. Most of the trees were bare. Except for a huge pine tree. As Derek stared at the tree he saw a trail of blood from the log, dotting across the dead leaves and fresh snow and dragging up the tree trunk. As Derek followed the trail, a brighter red fabric caught his eye. A little pale body was huddled on the lowest branch of the tree, wrapped in a dirty red cloak. As Derek stared at it, he realized that it was not a petrified statue, but a breathing person. 

And they were staring at Vigil. 

Just then the small thing turned and their eyes met. The fear of a monster subsided slightly as he looked at the little tree person. There was no rage or hunger in its eye. Its eyes looked almost drunk, just hollow and tired. It was a young boy. He had an elfish little face, almost handsome if he didn’t look like a hollowed-out corpse. “Derek, were you listening to me? What are you looking at? ” Vigil had a bedroll in her hands, prepared to stay the night in the hollow, unaware of the tree boy. 

Although the boy was yards way Derek watched as the boy started to cry and heard a tired little voice speak  
“I am going to be killed by this witcher, Mother. Forgive me. I have failed to do as you wished for me. Forgive me. Please. I am going to die alone…. Fitting punishment…” 

Shit, the poor boy was a druid. Just as the words left the boy’s mouth he had started to lean sideways and Derek started to move towards him. He had just managed to catch the little druid. He felt like a bag of bones in his arms and his side was covered in dried crusted blood. He gave a couple of twitches of defense as Derek held him. 

“...all...alone. ”

His horse, broken voice made Derek pity the poor thing on his arms.  
“Shit!” Vigil dropped the bedroll on the ground as she ran over to Derek on the ground. “Who the hell is that?”  
“A druid boy” Derek shifted the boy as he stood up, cradling him against his chest. Derek stood and made his way over to Rat, taking a blanket off her saddle. Vigil hung back watching Derek wrap the boy up. His breath was shallow, and his heartbeat was slow but it was there so he wasn’t dead yet. 

“Is he... Is he dead?”

Derek turned and looked at her. Vigil always had a soft spot for druids. When she was a newborn she had been found in the woods, abandoned, the druids had taken her in and care for her for years as she waited for someone like her to find her. He turned back around to tuck the blanket around the boy in a feeble attempt to warm him. 

“No, not yet” 

Vigil snapped out of her moment of emotion and got to work. “Well let’s keep it that way.” She quickly grabbed the map from the saddlebag and spread it out on Rats’ backside.  
“There is a cave system close to here. We should take him there we can get him warm and treat him the best we can. ” He stared at Vigil for a moment “He won’t survive the night, Baeg bleidd. We can’t do anything for him” 

“Says you” she quipped as she reached down and took the boy from his arms. “So what if he dies, doesn’t mean we leave him alone in the woods.” Derek sighed.

“There is no point arguing” She placed the boy on Rats back and climbed on using her body to support his limp one. She tuning Rat around and started her on the path outta the clearing.  
“Coming?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i made a Pinterest board for this fic!  
> https://pin.it/f4xjvtlxrxqrzv  
> i also have tumblr- emissary-24


	3. Stiles-The first cavern

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there!   
> thank you all for all the love and support   
> if anyone wants to beta-read this fic please comment your tumblr and we can talk about it!

Stiles awoke in the cavern. A huge cavern. A hot cavern. Wow, it was hot. It must be a hot spring or something cause Stiles felt like he was swimming in his own sweat. He looked around. Yep. he was in a cavern, with a huge underground lake, covered in heavy blankets. Well, that was why he was so hot. As he moved to sit up pain shot through his right shoulder. He fell back down his whole body now awake, aching. He couldn’t help but groan. Memories came flooding back. The clearing, the pine tree, the horse and the girl…. And the witcher. 

Oh fuck. 

“Don’t rip those stitches out.” a gruff voice spoke across from a firepit that was next to him. Stiles’s head whipped around, ignore the ache of his bones. The Witcher was sitting there, in just his undershirt and slacks, sharpening his sword. Stiles’s arms grew tired to hold him up, flopping onto his side. At the angel, he had a full view of the witcher across from him. The dressing shirt was loose and Stiles could see as he moved the stone up and down the sword. His muscles rippled with every movement, in spite of the scars that seemed to cover his arms and chest. There were three on his biceps, like thin claw marks. Then there was a thick slash on his upper pec, it was deep and thick. Must have been from a sword….

“It was so much quieter when you were dead. “ 

The witcher had stopped sharpening his sword and was staring at stiles. Stiles blinked out of his haze. The man blinked back at him, almost in the surprise of what he had said. They stared at each other for too long just looking at each other, unsure of what to say. Until Stiles said the first coherent thought he could think of.

“Are all Witchers this beautiful?” 

The witcher, in question, was stunned and his ears went pink at the tips. The face he pulled was a victory in itself even if Stiles couldn’t seem to remove himself from his blanket prison.

“Is that why you can’t have babies? Cause you're too pretty?” He tried to tug his arm that didn’t hurt like hell, trying to free himself, while the man was distracted.   
Only to end up with his face in the dirt. 

Well then, good plan. 

“Well I like to think so” 

Stiles managed to pull his head up out of the dirt to see the girl again. She was standing above him with two birds thrown over her shoulder, and her hand on her hip. “Is your only defense well-timed sass?” 

Stiles let out a weak chuckle “ I would like to think so” as the girl grabbed his good shoulder and sat him up. He landed with a huff, his back hitting stone behind him. He looked up at the girl. She moved around the little camp, giving the birds to the older man and then sat down next to him. As she began to pull the armor off her legs. The man looked at her with his eyebrows raised. “It's almost nightfall” She stated, “ And I want to relax thank you, hen dh'oine.” Once her leg armor was off she grabbed the birds again with a smirk. “Now behave, boys, while I make dinner edible” she jangled the birds a little as she trekked up the hill she had just come down. 

“I don’t think he’s that old” They turned to look at Stiles, forgetting he was even there. The elder witcher ears went from pink to scarlet.   
“Well look at they you made him bush” The girl giggled.   
“And while this is an inspiring conversation, I have some questions that I would like answered as soon as convenient” Stiles was trying to panic but the swords and dead birds and scary faces and body language were not helping.   
“We aren't going to hurt you if that's what you mean” The grumpy old man huffed from the corner. They both seemed pleased with that answer and the girl started climbing again.  
Stiles, on the other hand, was not convinced. “Hey! Was that supposed to make me trust you, I don't even know who you are!?”

“My name is Vigil and this” she gestured to the Witcher “Is the Black-Wolf. Derek of Beaconhills. Now please don't kill each other before supper.” With that, she climbed into the beaming sunlight that streamed into the cavern through the crack in a huge stone. Letting out an awkward chuckle, stiles turned back to his cave-mate. 

The minutes ticked by in silence. The witcher, Derek, had resumed sharpening his sword.   
Stiles managed to untangle himself from his blanket shackles in the meantime.   
And, fuck he shouldn’t have.   
He was in his small clothes, which was a jarring development as he swore that he was wearing clothes before and freaked him out for a solid second and a half until he saw the rest of his body. 

There were thorn nicks all along his legs. There was gauze-y fabric wrapped around his right thigh. So that’s what fucking burns. He tried to move his arm to touch it but the sharp pain hit him again. He took his good arm, which was being kind. His left shoulder ached too. (Probably a nasty bruise too) to clutch his shoulder, feeling the puckering of stitches and the tender flesh of more bruises. He felt around with his fingertips, feeling four deep, and painful gashes, stitched up and covered in a thick salve. 

Derek said something, but Stiles wasn’t listening. He had woken up in a strange place, with strange people, looking like (he could only assume) as if he walked away from a nasty fight.   
That he lost. 

His eyes drifted back down to his legs and noticed his knees. His knees were cut up and raw covered in a thick feeling paste-like his gashes. He reached down to feel what the paste event was and saw his hands. His wrists were wrapped up around to the bottom of his hands leaving fingers free. The panic kept rising and rising into his throat, as he could see specks of blood, bleeding through the gauze as well as dried blood freckling his fingertips from touching his shoulder. 

“What happened to me?” His voice sounding foreign and squeaky as the moisture from his mouth disappeared. 

Stiles tried desperately to remember what had to happen but it was a blur of pain and panic.  
All he could remember was the carriage and then...oh god. He dug his palms into his eye as the last four days come rushing back in and winced as the pressure on his injured hands. 

What had he gotten himself into now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr- emmisary-24  
> Pinterest-https://pin.it/hwt5yvkadfymt2


End file.
